My Prince
by Carandraug
Summary: AU: Isildur destroyed the ring all those years ago, his line sits on the throne ever since then. Aragorn, Halbarad, Denethor and Boromir are the main actors.
1. Prologue

Title: My Prince  
  
Author/email: Carandraug (veralicat@yahoo.ca)  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: AU Isildur destroyed the ring all those years ago, his line sits on the throne ever since then. Aragorn, Halbarad, Denethor and Boromir are the main actors.  
  
Spoilers: None  
  
Disclaimers: The characters do not belong to me, nor does middle-earth and the universe in which both evolve. J.R.R. Tolkien is the sole culprit.  
  
Additional Author's notes: (PLEASE READ) I took a lot of liberties with the AU but I think most of it fits the real timeline. I changed Denethor's age for Boromir's sake, since having a babe in the story is of little interest to me. There MAY be some slash, eventually, so be warned. However, if it appears, it will not be for the sole purpose of having slash in the story, it will be a reasonable explanation of facts already exposed. I am not the fastest author and certainly not the most reliable one and so, I will not give any dates for new parts. My estimation though would be about 3 to 5 days between parts. I have no beta and would be glad that one offer him/herself to me. I don't kill them, usually. *G* All that said, enjoy the story!  
  
*************  
  
My Prince  
  
*************  
  
Arathorn II had sent his only son, Aragorn, away to learn from Mithrandir, the grey pilgrim, on his travels. Indeed, the man had feared his grief over his beloved wife's death would make him little apt to raise a child. The young one was safe with the grey wizard after all. Yet some events come, which are impossible to predict by even the greatest minds in middle-earth. Aragorn grew the first 10 years of his life in the wilderness, safely protected by the wizard and the occasional envoy from his father, learning much about patience and warfare. In the letters frequently exchanged between the wizard and the king, Gandalf, for he was also known thus, expressed his surprise and appreciation for the boy's abilities and quick mind. 'Never have I had the pleasure to teach such a student. I daresay he is the quickest learner I ever instructed.' And so the King was pleased at his child's accomplishments and sent him Halbarad, his young nephew, so the boys could bond and Aragorn know that the world was not only made of wizards and soldiers. According to Mithrandir, the two had immediately taken to each other in a most touching way. Two years went by, Aragorn and Halbarad stayed near inseparable. They lived in an idyllic world where only the other existed. Until tragedy stroke and by some twist of destiny, Aragorn was taken. A raid by men of unknown nationality had separated the boys from the wizard and by the time he rejoined them, Halbarad lay unconscious on the ground and Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. None knew exactly what happened, for Halbarad had never spoken it with much detail, but all had had hope for Aragorn to live still.  
  
A hunt had been organized, prices offered and bounty hunters paid, to no avail; for 3 years the elusive prince remained hidden. And then the king had died. A strange accident it was known to be, though to the royals and trusted friends, there seemed to be nothing accidental about it. To them, the king had not simply died, he had been killed and his only heir kidnapped. The Steward's office was once again opened to Echtellion, the King's confident. The Steward took over the duties of the king without the title, waiting for confirmation of the young one's demise. Echtellion moved his house to Minas Tirith, his only son Denethor following him into the great city of men accompanied by his wife, Findulias, and their first son, a young, golden-haired child named Boromir.  
  
And such it was that the people of the city became more and more insecure, for there was much division inside the walls. Many believed that Halbarad must be raised to take over the duties of the King, but most still held hope for the King's heir to return and so, for Elendil's bloodline to remain unbroken. Halbarad was taught, two years after the king's death.  
  
Aragorn was twelve years old when he disappeared off the face of Arda. He would have been seventeen when Halbarad was told he would have to be king.  
  
TBC... 


	2. Part 1: The Meeting

Additional Author's notes: First of all my eternal thanks to Jamie, who bears with me through the sometimes painful process of writing and beta-ing *thinks of name-finding* My darling, I owe you quite a bit!  
  
Also, I believe this story is definitely going to take a turn for slash, maybe even get graphic later on. Now that I've set out my plot, I know it's more than likely.  
  
I am not quite sure what to do about FF.net's policy on NC-17 vs R fics (what constitutes NC-17 and such, as I'm not sure that this story will end up being put there) and so, will ask advice before taking action. It is highly possible though that this story need be moved elsewhere. If ever such a course of action should become inevitable, a link to the address where one can follow the story shall be posted, most likely on fandomination.net or adultfanfiction.net, if not both.  
  
The rating is definitely going up, though not for this chapter.  
  
A bit of an explanation before the story: The boy in the story is, evidently, Aragorn. I prefer not to call him by name until the other main characters are aware of his name. The story starts when Aragorn is 15 years old, so it coincides with the assassination of his father, three years after the kidnapping.  
  
That said, please enjoy the story.  
  
****************  
  
My Prince  
  
****************  
  
Part 1  
  
********  
  
The boy wearily put down his charge, trying to find a way to make his burden safe without it being noticed. It was no ordinary bundle he carried. This one wiggled.  
  
He sat under the glaring sunlight, knowing that to make sure his burden was safe would draw attention to it, something he clearly did not want.  
  
He was a strange sight among the people here, for all had black hair and eyes, but more, all skin was darkened, as though the sun had been looking down on them for centuries. And mayhap it had, thought the boy. His skin was whiter than any of theirs. He was a stranger here, however much time he had spent in these lands.  
  
He remembered enough of his life to know why he did not belong here; he knew himself fortunate to live still.  
  
The memories were still much too close to the surface than he would have it, the pain, humiliation and hopelessness still too raw, even after all these years. He didn't know why they had preferred him alive and in pain rather than dead and in peace. He knew that, whether they kept him alive out of overconfidence, stupidity or simple cruelty, it was what led to his freedom.  
  
Well... as free as one could get in this damned country. He was lucky enough to find people willing to take him in, ignoring all the differences between them and simply seeing a child in pain. Compassion still existed in this world, the boy knew that now.  
  
He remembered little of his first month spent in delirium and nightmares. Only a voice speaking to his mind, the sweet voice of the only mother he had ever had whispering to him in a foreign language he knew nothing of.  
  
Later on, he had awoken to a poor but clean little house and smiles on dark faces. He had swallowed the initial fear and had spoken for the first time in four months. Since then, he had had a new family.  
  
- "Hey you boy! Come here!"  
  
The fifteen year old didn't wait to hear more before he straightened his drained form and walked as steadily as possible toward the source of the voice, his burden carefully cradled against his chest. He observed all around him the people going about, who he could go to if he needed aid and which path he could take should the need to escape arise. He quickly localized potential weapons and traps, Gandalf's voice echoing through his head as he did so. 'Never assume but always be ready.'  
  
The man who had called him stood but a little higher than the boy, his complexion was somewhat lighter than that of the other men but still much darker than the youth's. He wore a warrior's garb, but not any warrior's, he was dressed as a Caranhîr ought to be dressed.  
  
The name flashed in the boy's mind and before he could pin-point the source of the knowledge, he remembered that a Caranhîr was the most feared Haradrim warrior any soldier of Gondor could encounter. They were as fast as elves it was said, and strong as well. But most terrifying of all was not any of these characteristics, it was the way they fought, like wild things in the desert, always seeming to know where the enemy is without looking, each strike deadly. They could never be harmed for they seemed forewarned of danger, moving out of the way before their opponent had even begun his attack. It was also said that they could jump frightening distances and that they ate their victims. But the boy knew some, if not most of this to be tales meant by Halbarad to frighten him. He quelled the pain that blossomed in his chest at the thought of the other boy and faced the warrior, focusing all his attention in the man's eyes.  
  
They were a cold, black thing, deep as only a dark touch can make them, lifeless orbs of ice. And as the boy stared inquisitively into them, polite and respectful, he noticed a flicker of fire in them; a small flame most would have missed. And before he made the required bow, he saw it flare up. It was all the warning he had for the blow, but it was enough.  
  
Without thought, the boy put up his arm to block the other man's strike, balancing his charge on his other limb. He waited for the next blow to fall, as he knew it had to.  
  
The caranhîr however didn't follow up with another blow like every other person. He simply maintained the stance he was in with such a perfect stillness that, had the boy not been looking into very much alive and narrowed eyes, he would have assumed the other under the effect of Yurich, a paralysing drug the soldiers around these parts enjoyed using. The youth stayed very still as well, knowing that whatever came next would hurt more than he could imagine. Perhaps the warrior would call his fellows and tie him up so they could eat him alive, one part after the other, keeping him awake as long as possible. The boy allowed himself an inward shudder before hardening himself and staring back into the black eyes, he didn't lower his arm nor did he avert his gaze.  
  
Suddenly, the pressure against his arm was removed and a booming laugh echoed through the small market.  
  
- "This one has spirit! Wherever did you come from? A white bastard with  
a backbone! Miracles do happen."  
  
The boy narrowed his eyes at the insult and lowered his arm protectively against the wriggling burden. He almost let out a curse as he noticed the eyes of the man latching onto the gesture.  
  
- "And what have we here, mongrel? Stolen goods perhaps? Ah but these  
goods breathe, do they not?"  
  
As the warrior pronounced the words, he reached out, trying to discover the exact nature of the package cradled against the strange boy's chest.  
  
Before he could reach it however, the youth interrupted him with a panicked word.  
  
- "Don't!"  
  
More convinced than deterred, the warrior grabbed the outer cloth and pulled, finding beneath the garment exactly what he had expected to find: a small child, a beautiful infant if truth be told.  
  
- "And whom are you trying to blackmail with this child, boy?"  
  
The youth squeezed his lips together in response to the implication and, hardening his gaze further, he answered icily:  
  
- "No one, my Lord. This child is my charge for the day.  
  
- Your charge, heh? And who would trust a *white man* with such a  
precious burden?"  
  
The epithet was pronounced with a disdainful tone and a slight raise of the eyebrow. Though the evident disgust in the warrior's behaviour grated on the boy's nerves, his only outward reaction was an improved civility.  
  
- "My Lord he was given to me by my adoptive mother for this day. She is  
sick and could not care for him.  
  
- So they give you women's jobs, do they?  
  
- If you mean by that caring for a child while going about my usual  
labour in the day, then the answer would be yes."  
  
The warrior let his gaze scrutinize the boy, taking in the slightly defiant stance and protective arm he had draped around the baby as well as the fire burning in the eyes of a boy who should have been kneeling, asking for forgiveness. He noticed that their intercourse had attracted some attention from the surrounding people. Some of them were not even observing common courtesy and were staring openly at the scene unfolding before them. The caranhîr did not feel like making a scene and so, he grabbed the boy's arm, condescending a bit of care for the infant and dragged the boy out of the public area into a small, dirty alley.  
  
The youth let himself be guided out, nervously glancing about, trying to calculate ways he could escape eventually. His instincts were telling him to wait, but his heart and his fears were maintaining that he should run away now. The situation was already bad, and it could easily get worse.  
  
The warrior noticed the edginess and he allowed himself an internal smile of satisfaction. This was much, much better. He hadn't felt as though he had been arguing with a slave or an inferior, and that had bothered him. This boy was much too sure of himself.  
  
The caranhîr refused to admit that he liked the defiant nature of the boy. He also ignored how piercing the eyes of this white man were, and how well he liked seeing them ablaze.  
  
When he judged them out of hearing, the warrior stopped the boy with a pull of his arm and decided that it was time to see just how steady his young companion was.  
  
- "You do not behave with the proper respect, boy! Perhaps I should give  
you the beating you've been asking for since you dared meet my gaze?"  
  
The young man stopped the panic before it took hold with a sharp 'You will not!' to himself. He knew there was a way out of this. He opened his mouth, not knowing what was going to come out, intending to improvise his defence.  
  
- "You do not know my identity. How dare you think that I am of a lesser  
standing than you?"  
  
The boy was almost as surprised at the words as the warrior, but he knew where these words had come from. He had decided that he would forget this part of his life! He was no prince, if he ever had been. Once again, the boy found himself having to suppress the pain of his father's rejection. He had never even seen him... Shaking his head slightly, he looked up at the warrior, fearing his reaction yet somehow knowing that if there was a choice to be done between amusement and annoyance, violence or words, this man would choose the most civilised way. This new certainty puzzled the boy, yet a certainty it was.  
  
The man however had decided that he had been surprised a lot more than he cared to admit by this boy in the time of their meeting. This latest bout made the man look at the youth even closer than before, forcing him to contain an amused chuckle at the self-righteous and yet unsure look of the boy. He liked this one, very much. And as much as he found the situation ironically entertaining, he saw that there was something more to this young man, a sense of something to be. There was, in his stance, something that spoke of dignity and honour, courage and wisdom.  
  
- "And who would you be, young master?"  
  
He decided to call the other one's bluff, not bothering to hide the note of laughter in his tone.  
  
The boy opened his mouth to answer, having once again no idea of what he was going to be say. He was saved from answering by a sharp cry from the baby, which propped another cry, and another, until the boy found himself with an armful of crying baby.  
  
The warrior could no longer suppress his amusement and he laughed out loud, yielding these words to the boy:  
  
- "It seems you even have problems doing a woman's job after all! But I  
like you my boy. You've got some fire in you."  
  
The young man tried to quiet the baby, self-consciously averting his eyes to the floor at the warrior's words.  
  
- "Ah, come now, he's not going to quiet down anytime soon. Give him to  
me, youngling."  
  
The boy's shock was so great that he did indeed let the man pick up the baby, stunned at how readily it silenced once the warrior had settled him in his arms. He shot a bit of a puzzled glare at the baby, wondering why he should quiet for this warrior and not for him.  
  
- "Don't feel too bad my boy. Babies and animals always sense how you  
feel. If you're centred and calm, it'll know. Whereas if you're trying to  
make up a lie and coming short on inspiration, it'll know too!"  
  
The man laughed at his own joke and the perfectly composed figure of the youth before him. Oh yes, he definitely liked the boy.  
  
- "There now, where do you stay, little commander?"  
  
The youth felt a bit insulted at the obviously patronising man before him but decided to rein in his pride and temper; the man had his charge, it would not do to anger him. However, the boy didn't feel inclined to lead this man to his home quite yet. He had judged the warrior civilised and reasonable, but he was still a stranger. Mika would kill him if he brought this unknown, potentially dangerous man back to the house, especially if he had the baby with him. He had been with this family for three years now and he knew well the temper on that woman. Even sick and unable to walk, she was a threat to be reckoned.  
  
- "Ah, lack of trust obviously. Wiser than you look, aren't you?"  
  
The boy raised his eyes to the man's face, trying to see what his intent was. He couldn't possibly mean to talk to Hamrod about his insolence, could he? No. If that were the case the boy knew he would be sporting marks of this encounter already. As much as he had the certainty that the man was level-headed, he knew that when insulted, the warrior would not stand by idly or converse as he had been wont to do up till now. He wondered if he hadn't been judging the warrior too harshly as well. After all, not everyone in Harad wanted to kill or maim him. He considered the problem once again; leading this man to his home was out of the question. How then was he to refuse without appearing even more insolent than he already had?  
  
His deliberation was cut short once again by the man, who had prior to now been waiting patiently, cooing to the baby.  
  
- "As I see it, you've got two choices now. You can either lead me to  
your home so that I may return this baby and speak with your father or I  
can give you the child, a bit of a head start and then follow you home.  
What say you?"  
  
So the man thought to track him. The boy extended his arms in which the babe was immediately transferred and replied:  
  
- "Though I am loath to oppose a refusal, I would be even more to approve  
your request and lead you to my temporary home."  
  
The warrior let a smile curve his lips. He was not surprised at the decision; he'd known that the boy would choose the most trying way for both himself and the man. What surprised him though was the way that decision was delivered. He had affirmed in his speech and manner that he would not lead the man to his home, obviously meaning that he thought the warrior incapable of tracking him. And also, the boy had spoken of a 'request' as opposed to an order.  
  
Before the man could puzzle over that last bout overly, the youth bowed and turned away, walking swiftly out of sight.  
  
So the boy thought to best him. Let him try.  
  
As soon as he had turned the corner, the boy cradled his charge to his chest and started running. He darted through known streets and alleyways. It took him not two minutes to realise that the man was following and did not seem to have any problems doing it either.  
  
Alright, so it was a challenge he wanted. That was just fine.  
  
The boy completely stopped and turned, running in the opposite direction from which he came. He met the eyes of the stunned warrior few moments before he side-stepped him and ran for the ladder he knew to be right... here. He made a running jump and managed to safely clear the three first steps. He climbed up the rest of it one-handed and once the roof reached, he kicked the ladder down. He chanced a quick look at the babe to make sure it was alright. The boy was surprised that it hadn't cried out earlier in the run and as he looked into the baby's face, he realised why. A smile nearly split that beautiful young face in two. The child was enjoying the ride!  
  
A chuckle later, the boy took off again, going from roof to roof with an ease that belied much experienced skill and a perfect knowledge of the surroundings.  
  
The warrior however was having a much harder time of it. He hadn't lost that much time after he had returned to himself. That the boy had turned to face him and then ran right to him had so surprised the warrior that he had very nearly lost control and hit him. Fortunately he had stopped himself from reacting violently, allowing another smile to curve his lips instead, so much potential.  
  
He had righted the ladder and followed up on the roofs. He had a distinct disadvantage in that terrain. He knew nothing of it and the boy periodically escaped his vision, darting behind taller buildings and dropping to lower ones. The warrior had no doubt that this was intentional and that such a pursuit was nothing new to this boy. But he had never before defied a Caranhîr.  
  
The warrior summoned a burst of speed from his body as the boy disappeared from his sight once again and failed to reappear. He stood where he had last seen the youth, scanning the roofs for any movement. After a few seconds, he cursed and then chuckled. He had been had! That boy had much potential indeed. Right below where he stood was a small crack in the rocky wall, an opening only just small enough to prevent a full-grown man to pass through.  
  
The man shook his head at himself; he had over-estimated the boy's speed. Or had he under-estimated his intelligence? Well, he'd have to ask the boy if he intended to come to this opening from the beginning of the pursuit or else he'd never know. Another chuckle and the man jumped off the roof, landing neatly on his feet.  
  
He walked back to the market at a leisurely pace; looking all around him to make sure that the boy had indeed escaped him. He periodically shook his head, disbelieving still of the fact that he'd fallen for such a trick. When he reached the square he immediately spotted his Verden, his face covered as usual by a thin white cloth.  
  
The warrior walked up to his superior, who was looking over a weapons' shop, and stood, waiting to be acknowledged.  
  
- "Explain."  
  
A cold, cultivated voice came from beneath the mask, the order clear and inevitable. With a respectful bow, the warrior walked the remaining steps separating him from the cloaked man and he silently requested the conversation be taken elsewhere with a somewhat pleading glance.  
  
- "Alright Karadan, follow me."  
  
Once they had moved out of the public market, Karadan opened his mouth to answer only to be interrupted by a raised gloved hand from the verden.  
  
- "Before you start explaining away, tell me, do you think there is any  
account you can give me that would justify your actions?"  
  
Trick question. If he said yes, then he proved himself to be disobedient and self-absorbed as well as unable to follow order. If he said no, he proved that he had not the capacity to make decisions for himself and that, should the time come when a choice must be made between following orders and doing the right thing, he'd always be on the wrong side. There was no right answer, for both were wrong.  
  
- "My Verden, I believe my leaving without permission or warning can be  
excused by the reason I will present you with. I had also judged there to  
be no danger in the immediate area."  
  
Proud, too proud. He immediately regretted his words the second they were spoken. Karadan had never been one for diplomacy, but he could usually avoid such obvious traps.  
  
- "Something has you off balance."  
  
They were softly contemplating words which Karadan was immediately grateful for. Sometimes the perception of the Verden was a curse, for there seemed to be nothing you could hide from him, but at other times, it was a blessing for those poorly gifted with words. The question behind the words was also very clear to the warrior. The Verden almost never questioned, but answering him was inevitable.  
  
- "I've met someone, Verden. A boy."  
  
Too-sharp pale eyes turned on him with such scrutiny that Karadan felt the need to squirm under the look for the first time since he had reached adulthood. Those eyes... The warrior was suddenly reminded of the boy's silvery gaze.  
  
- "Yes, I had gathered as much from your imprudent *public* episode."  
  
The emphasis on the word made the warrior flinch inwardly. It was an unspoken rule of the Caranhîr that any public exhibition should be avoided.  
  
- "There was something about him, Verden. Something that reminds me of  
you."  
  
Though Karadan couldn't see the Verden's face, he was almost certain that he'd managed to at least raise one eyebrow of the unflappable man.  
  
- "Well then, perhaps we should look into where this boy went, since you  
seem captivated enough to account it as an excuse of disobedience."  
  
Those words induced a visible wince from Karadan and the Verden's eyes suddenly seemed less unkind as they rested on him.  
  
- "You will tell me exactly what transpired as we walk to his home.  
- Verden?"  
  
Karadan had the sneaking suspicion that he was being made fun of and that the Verden already knew all that had happened. He became even more suspicious when the Verden ignored his question and simply walked away in a determined, elegant stride. The Verden knew where he was going. How could he know where the boy lived if he hadn't even known that there WAS a boy?  
  
- "Karadan, if you would be so kind as to follow me?"  
  
The warrior shook himself and caught up to his superior. He was accustomed to such behavior in his Verden. He didn't try to understand how the Verden knew things... but sometimes it puzzled him. It seemed like mind-reading to him. What of it really? So the man was a wizard, it wasn't that far-fetched a theory.  
  
- "There is no sorcery in it, Karadan. Normal citizens believe every  
Caranhîr to be sorcerers, yet you know that is not so.  
- How then did you know there was a boy? How did you know where he lived?  
And how did you know what I was thinking just then?"  
  
As he spoke the questions, Karadan had the distinct impression that he shouldn't have said anything for fear of looking rather dim in his Verden's eyes.  
  
- "Karadan, I could never dream up a better companion for the road than  
you."  
  
The tone of voice was solemn and strict, and Karadan decided that he had better let the subject drop before another compliment of the like came from his Verden's mouth. In fact, he resolved to not say a word more unless a question was asked.  
  
- "Everyone at the market was still talking about your little face-off  
with the boy. The only white boy in Harad I'm sure. How hard is it to  
find out where he stays?"  
  
The Verden paused in his speech to let his warrior assimilate the fact that he'd always had all the tools at his disposition and had played his part very inadequately considering the options open to him.  
  
- "If you were interested in the boy, you could have found out a lot more  
by staying at the market and interrogating the people. And you would have  
insured a greater cooperation if you had not tried to hit him as a  
greeting! Tell me, do you even know the boy's name?  
- No, Verden. I do not.  
- Huh."  
  
The non-committal sound went directly through Karadan's defenses and ripped whatever little pride he still had apart.  
  
- "Here we are."  
  
The Verden pointed towards a small house, just out of the city. It looked ready to fall apart but there was still some feeling of welcome from it, some flowers hung on the door and a nice smell came from the open window.  
  
The material used for most of the buildings in the city was clay and sand, since so little trees stood in Harad. The walls of any building had to be extremely thick to resist the environment. Karadan couldn't remember exactly the way it was built in, but there existed a technique to fortify the simple granite structures. This house looked centuries old, rock and sand made it as opposed to dried clay.  
  
It was a rather odd house in this city, suited to the housing of one rather odd boy.  
  
The Verden approached the house without hesitation and knocked on the door, then retreated behind Karadan, giving him a chance to redeem himself for the day.  
  
The door swung open to reveal a dark-skinned man sporting a scar on his face. It reached from over his right eyebrow right down to the corner of his lips. The eye socket was empty and skinned over, looking raw and tender still.  
  
- "What can I do for you m'lords?  
- Know you ought of a white-skinned boy walking the streets of this city?  
- What has he done this time?"  
  
Karadan forced the smile off his face with impressive self-control. 'This time' indeed. He was about to ask for the boy when his Verden stepped forward and spoke, for the first time making himself known to the scarred man.  
  
- "You are his protector."  
  
Again, a simple statement that demanded an answer. Karadan had always enjoyed watching his Verden in the midst of an interrogation; it seemed no one could resist telling him what he wanted to know.  
  
- "Aye, my Lord.  
- How came it to be?"  
  
There was immediate fear in the man's face that he could never have hoped to hide from a Caranhîr. Yet the man mastered himself quickly and answered:  
  
- "Why should you be interested in that, m'Lord? Has the boy done any ill  
deed?  
- I wish to purchase him.  
- But he's not for selling!  
- Isn't he?"  
  
A pair of narrowed eyes settled on the man who did his best to resist the urge to cower before them. He only succeeded partially and was forced to lower his gaze. He liked the young boy, but he'd never taken to him as much as his wife or his sons had. The family was experiencing financial difficulties; maybe he could convince Mika that it was for the best.  
  
- "Come on in please."  
  
The man gestured for the Caranhîrs to enter and the Verden looked at Karadan, silently asking him to go first. Karadan understood the gaze but he had also caught a hint of disgust in the eyes of his superior. Looking at the wretch of a man they had before them, who was visibly considering money in exchange for a life, the warrior felt himself somewhat disgusted as well.  
  
He preceded his superior inside the shaky house, noting the clean feel of it through its deteriorated state. They were introduced in a small sitting area, bits of parchment decorated the walls and the cushions, though old, looked comfortable.  
  
- "T'is a long and strange story m'lords, perhaps you'd like to sit?"  
  
The man extended his hand towards the Verden to show him to a seat. The Verden's reaction was somewhat shocking for he recoiled as though stung by a snake.  
  
- "I will stand."  
  
Even Karadan, who was used to such speech, felt chilled by the tone used.  
  
- "As you wish, my Lord."  
  
The man's voice was almost trembling by now. Karadan wasn't a good diplomat, but he could see that this man would not dare refuse them much and felt a bit awed at the practice of the power his Verden had over men.  
  
- "Talk.  
- Well, alright then. But my dear wife, she loves the boy. If we do find  
agreement, I think I'd like for her to stay unaware of my implication in  
the transaction. Certainly that is possible?  
- We shall see. Answer the question."  
  
The old man closed his eyes and started to talk, the memories passing through his mind fast and then faster still.  
  
He'd lost an eye for the boy already, and he'd nearly lost a son. It takes a long time to forget such a thing.  
  
TBC...  
  
************************  
  
Review response:  
  
Lady Dragon of Spirit's Fire : *bows* hope you liked it m'lady! I'll do my best to hurry up with the updates! *kisses Lady's hand*  
  
Shinigami061 : You know I love you chiquita, right? I actually hereby dedicate this story to you. Hope you like how it's progressing. 


End file.
